Too Little Too Late
by always-kh
Summary: She always thought this was wrong, but never thought to ask what it meant... because later there would be time to ask and talk... right?


**Disclaimer: **The plot and only the plot is mine. Don't sue.

**…...**

**She Never Asked**

He paced over to stand beside her. She tensed as he whispered words into her ear, words which she heard, yet could barely comprehend. All she could do was feel his hot breath against her neck, and nod dumbly at his commands. His nearness excited her in ways which she didn't, couldn't, understand. She didn't want to. She _should_ hate this man- he was her captor... But she didn't, couldn't, hate him. Instead, in one of life's grand ironies, she_ loved_ him. And she knew it was wrong.

But, nonetheless, the truth was he _didn't need_ to utter those threats and rewards he offered so abundantly, she was truly and completely his, she would do anything for him, and it nearly _killed_ her. And she proved it so many times over as she did everything for him, she would have changed the world for him. And still she couldn't recover from the cruelest of ironies, the sense of wrongness in the image, the thought of the captive pining, lusting after the captor.

And he didn't even _notice_ her, that much was glaringly obvious as she devoured him with her eyes, eagerly taking in his contours, aching to draw him in motion.

...

He came in shirtless and, after she'd managed to control her breathing to normal levels, she stared and unsurprisingly (he wasn't an elite for nothing) but still much to her embarrassment he caught her at it.

Smirking he teased her, "Like what you see, witch?"

And she didn't answer once more because the underlying coldness in the question caught her off guard, unsettling her, as she fought to contain her blush.

Then he turned away and she could breathe and think again. And notice things like all the scars, marring his torso, more clearly as they caught and reflected the light, angry red marks, crossing the milky skin. One still dripped with blood and instinctively she caught up with him, going over to help and soothe.

But he turned around, gripping her delicate wrist, and she flinched at the contact, but didn't pull away or protest, entranced by his eyes. And he pulled her in, jerking her towards him so her lips mashed against his. She sighed, leaning, arching, into him as he deepened the kiss then smoothly pulled away, leaving as swiftly and cooly as ever, but leaving her wanting more and ashamed with herself and vaguely wondering if any of this was real or just another of his mind games. And so she never asked.

...

She could tell by the set of his shoulders, the tension in his face, the aura emenating from him that he had just ended another power struggle with Axel, but what shocked her was when he took a seat by her and watched her intently. So she twisted nervously and continued her drawing, wringing her hands, biting her lip as he continued his silent observations and his weighted gaze upon her as though considering her, evaluating her, and judging her and finding her lacking. And she desperately tried to ignore him.

...

Eventually she became... accustomed to his stares and she was able to draw without constantly fumbling her pencils. Still she was rendered entirely speechless when one day she dropped a pencil and he gracefully moved from beside her (when had he managed to get there unobserved?) and offered it up to her in one fluid motion before she could even so much as make a move for it. She shyly thanked him and then bit her lip, debating asking why he was there, the words, 'Why are you here with me, the prisoner?' nearly forcing themselves from her throat. But she clamped her mouth shut so quickly she bit her tongue, drawing blood, its metallic tang filling her mouth, invading her senses.

...

She never asked 'Why?' when he handed her a rose so stunning in its delicate beauty... and so he never answered.

...

But now Sora had come and gone and she was finally ready to ask all the questions that had built up in her mind... only now there was no one to ask them _to_. He was gone. He'd faded, the life gone like it was from the dead and dried rose she fingered so gently which crumbled ever so slightly each time it brushed against her delicate skin. Soon it would be nothing but powder and blow away and scatter into the still air... just as he had. And then she shed those few tears that she shouldn't be able to feel, wondering what could have been, knowing it was too late all because... she never asked.

...

**A/N: **hope you liked it. please review!

Just a drabble idea that i quickly wrote and typed up. my first time writing something tragic so what do ya think? i was going for bittersweet with a touch of uncertainty and all. and plus i didn't want it to have the normal tragedy feel, but something slightly different. and for the pairing normal won't do anyway.

i wrote this b/c it seemed to work with the game- Nami always seemed so on edge around him- and at first I figured it was because he scared her so badly but then i thought that maybe she likes him. i also thought the reason she gave for why she obeyed marly was a little weak at least to me so the idea was born.

i leave it up to you to decide Marly's attentions if they were merely mind games or something more you can view it however you choose.

oh please vote in my poll.


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